


Jump Start My Heart

by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car bondage?, Carburetor, M/M, Sandwiches, lots of F bombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse/pseuds/SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I mean, this is a classic porn scenario. You know, some hot chick or dude or whatever is all in distress, and then some guy comes along and helps them out, and then they're all, 'How can I ever repay you?', and then he's like, 'I can think of one way', and then they do it. All we need now are some puns about dicks and car parts. You know any good ones?"<br/>Cas's car breaks down on the side of the road, and Dean, being the gentleman he is, stops to help him. All Cas has to do now is thank him for his assistance...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jump Start My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I learned some stuff about cars while writing this, but not that much, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Also, the title is based off the Mötley Crüe song "Kickstart My Heart", because when I started writing this I didn't know there was a song called "Jump Start My Heart" and thought I was being clever. Anyway, enjoy!

Cas stared at his car engine in utter confusion. He'd been feeling a bit proud of himself after finally figuring out how to raise the hood, but he could feel all that slowly seeping away, along with what was left of his patience. This day had been tiring enough already, and now his car had to break down on the highway? He sighed deeply and poked at the engine with his fingertip.  


"Shit!" He yanked his hand back and stuck his finger in his mouth. Of course it was still hot. Why wouldn't it be hot? He glared at the unfathomable workings of the engine. Everything Cas knew about cars, he'd learned from his grandmother: If your car breaks down, just stand by the side of the road looking puzzled until somebody stops to help you. But he'd been standing and looking puzzled for a good ten minutes, and so far nobody had even slowed down. Maybe it helped to be a pretty girl.  


He sighed again and pulled out his phone, praying it had magically charged itself since he'd last looked at it. Nope. He restrained himself from throwing it at the ground and turned back to look at the engine. If no one was going help him, he'd have to fix it himself. Somehow. He rolled up his sleeves and leaned over the engine, trying to discern what was wrong with it. But it all just looked like normal car stuff to him, and nothing really seemed broken. Wait, the hood was making a creaking noise, maybe that had something to- CRASH  


Cas cried out as the hood dropped down onto his back, his face smashing into the machinery. Apparently he hadn't been as successful with raising the hood as he'd thought. At least the engine wasn't so hot anymore. He lay on it for a few minutes, getting his wind back before trying to stand up. Trying because he found himself unable to do so. His arms were pinned to opposite sides of the car front, and his position was too awkward to lift the hood off himself with his back. He was stuck.  


"I fucking hate cars," he groaned, wincing as his face scraped against metal. "I hate you in particular," he said to his car. It didn't dignify him with a response. "Not even my fucking car will talk to me." His head was starting to hurt. "Wait, cars don't talk. Oh my god, I'm going insane." Cas kicked his legs ineffectually and tried to swallow the lump building in his throat. "Goddamnit, I'm just trying to get to a fucking place on time so I can get a fucking job." Now he was crying. Great. "I'm just trying to get a fucking job so I don't die on the fucking street but it doesn't matter anyway because I'm going to die here in this fucking car and no one will even know for a month because I don't have any fucking friends but even if I did they would think I was a worthless idiot because I can't! even! fix! a fucking! car!" He paused to take a breath. From behind him, he heard somebody clear their throat. He gave a start and scraped his face on the engine again.  


"Uh, hey," said a man with a deep voice. "You need any help?"  


"Yes I do," said Cas thickly. "Please lift up this car hood and slam it down on my neck." The man touched his lower back hesitantly before lifting up the hood, although he refused to comply with the second part of the instructions. Cas rolled over painfully and stared up at him. He seemed concerned. And handsome. Perfect, now Cas had humiliated himself in front of this guy. "Sorry," he managed, "I was just having a bit of a mental breakdown. I'm fine now. Thank you for that."  


"Your face is bleeding," said the man, looking down at him.  


"Oh, don't worry about that," said Cas. "That's just the ketchup packets I keep in my engine." The man grabbed his shoulder.  


"How many fingers am I holding up?" Cas shook him off and sat up a little.  


"No, don't worry, I was joking. I don't even like ketchup." There was a slight pause. "Who are you, anyway? I- I mean that in the politest way possible." The man's face relaxed into a grin.  


"I'm Dean. How do you not like ketchup?"  


"It's too sweet. I'm Castiel, by the way. Thank you again for saving me." Dean smiled easily. God, he was handsome.  


"Hey, don't worry about it, it was nothing. Well, not nothing. It's not everyday I get to save someone from getting eaten by a car." He laughed, and Cas found he had to laugh back. "But seriously, what were you doing?" Castiel blushed and stood up, turning to glare at the offending car.  


"It stopped working. I was trying to fix it."  


"By offering it a sacrifice?"  


"That part was an accident. Obviously. I was just trying to see what was wrong. Maybe something with the, ah, carburetor?" Carburetor was the only car part Cas could name, and he hoped he didn't sound completely stupid. Dean shook his head.  


"Newer looking model like this might not even have one. What kind of car is this, anyway?"  


"Ah...a red one?" He'd gotten it used and paid for it without even checking if it worked. "Oh, you don't have to do that." Dean was lifting up the hood of the car and snapping some kind of probably important bar into place. "Thank you, but you don't need to- if I could just borrow your phone..." Cas trailed off. The man had just pretty much saved his life and he was already asking him for favors? But Dean was unperturbed.  


"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm a mechanic, I love this kind of stuff." He resumed poking the engine as Cas watched awkwardly. Should he say something?  


"You might want to be careful," he burst out. Dean turned to look at him. "I've heard snakes sometimes hide in engines. Maybe that's not true. You'd probably know better than me, since you're a mechanic." Dean's eyes were very green, Cas noticed.  


"I've never had any engine snakes," Dean replied. "Nothing that interesting. Wait, I did find a sandwich in somebody's tailpipe once." He grinned at the memory and went back to fiddling with the engine.  


"What kind of sandwich?" Cas asked.  


"Well, the guy who owned the car claimed it was a bread sandwich."  


"A bread sandwich?"  


"Yeah, it was just three slices of bread. That guy was pretty crazy. Turned out his car was messed up cause he'd run his wife through a wood chipper and poured her into the gas tank."  


"That is pretty crazy."  


"Completely," agreed Dean. He wiped his face, leaving behind a streak of grease. "The guy wasn't even out of condiments, he just _wanted_ a sandwich made entirely out of bread." Cas wasn't sure how to reply to that. He silently watched Dean's muscles move under his shirt as he looked at the engine. Did that count as sexual harassment? Dean stood up before he could decide.  


"Ok," he said. "I figured out what's wrong. Your alternator's screwed up." Cas gave his best look of comprehension, trying not to let on that he had no idea what an alternator was. "I'll grab a new one from the station and bring it back here, since I don't have a tow rope."  


"Thank you, but you don't have to do that," said Cas, not wanting to put Dean to any more trouble than he already had. But Dean just shook his head and grabbed Cas's arm, dragging him over to a shiny black car.  


"C'mon, are you planning to fly home? Seriously, I don't mind. Driving around alone all the time can get kinda boring, and honestly," he said, looking conspiratorially over at Cas from the driver's seat, "this is the closest I've ever gotten to being in a porno." Cas choked on his own spit.  


"What?"  


"I mean, this is a classic porn scenario. You know, some hot chick or dude or whatever is all in distress, and then some guy comes along and helps them out, and then they're all, 'How can I ever repay you?', and then he's like, 'I can think of one way', and then they do it." He raised his eyebrows at Cas. "All we need now are some puns about dicks and car parts. You know any good ones?"  


Cas was too busy trying not to explode to respond. Dean thought this was like a porno? Did he mean in a funny way? Or did he mean in a 'Let's do it in my back seat' way? What should he say? Oh god, did _this_ count as sexual harassment? Dean smoothly filled the silence.  


"Or maybe you're not a porn kind of guy? I gotta admit, you look pretty straight laced." Cas stopped panicking and looked down at himself. He was wearing a very rumpled suit and a blue tie, and although he had taken off the jacket, his collared shirt was still in stark contrast to the other man's tight black t-shirt and jeans.  


"I'm just wearing this for a job interview," he explained, although the only difference between it and his typical wardrobe was the lack of a baggy old trench coat. Dean nodded.  


"What kinda job are you interviewing for?" For a moment, Cas considered making up an exciting lie.  


"Tax accounting."  


"Well, that sounds pretty..." He trailed off, and Cas sighed.  


"You can say it. Boring." Dean shook his head.  


"I was, uh, I was going to say important." He smiled sheepishly at Cas. "I mean, without tax accountants, who would account for our taxes?" Cas gave him a small smile in return.  


"We'd be Communists." They drove on in silence, leaving Cas to wonder how they'd gotten from pornography to this.  


"My little brother Sam's going to be a lawyer," said Dean after a few minutes. "I guess that's kind of like a tax accountant. Maybe not."  


"They both suck your soul out," Cas replied dourly. Dean looked at him sideways.  


"My little brother's got plenty of soul."  


"I'm sorry," said Cas, abashed. "I didn't mean-" He let his head drop forward. "I wanted to be an author. When I was younger."  


"And I wanted to be a stripper. We all have regrets." Cas raised his head.  


"What?" Dean let out a laugh.  


"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. When I was a kid, I wanted to be-" He paused. "Well, I guess I never really got to figure it out. And now, here I am." They lapsed into silence for the second time, and once again Dean was the first to speak. "You know what? This is getting way too depressing. Hey, can you grab me a tape from the glove box?" Cas reached into the compartment.  


"Which one?"  


"Any of 'em." Cas handed him a tape. "Aw yeah, this one's perfect." He shoved the cassette into the tape deck. A loud, not unpleasant roaring sound filled the car. "That's right!" Dean yelled. "Our lives may be completely stupid, but we can still kick ass! Or something!" He belted out the words enthusiastically, and Cas managed to pick up a bit of the chorus.  


"Kickstart my heart," he sang out, staring straight into Dean's dazzling eyes. Dean winked back and put the pedal to the metal. By the time they arrived miraculously in one piece at the shop, Cas was feeling ecstatically happy and more than a bit nauseous. He stumbled out of the car and gazed dizzily around. They were parked out front of what seemed to be a fairly nice auto repair shop, not that Cas knew anything about auto repair shops. He noted that there was a large pile of tires by a garage door, which seemed to indicate that the shop made enough money to afford lots of tires. He was still musing over this as Dean tossed a key ring at him.  


"Here, go wash the blood off your face in the bathroom if you want. Don't worry about freaking people out, nobody else is here."  


"Nobody? Why?"  


"Well, it's just me and my dad working here, but he's off on a hunting trip right now, so the place is basically unofficially closed." Cas was about to apologize for making Dean come in on what seemed to be his off day, but Dean interrupted him. "Seriously, go wash your face. It's getting creepy." Cas nodded and headed off in the direction Dean pointed him.  


The bathroom was about as nice as the rest of the place. It was small and overly fluorescent, but the walls were clear of graffiti. Cas leaned over the sink and stared at his face in the mirror. His cheeks and nose were scraped and bruised, and the rest of his face was covered in tracks of dried blood. It was the most hardcore he had ever looked in his life. He washed the blood off reluctantly, wincing as he scraped a paper towel over the cuts. It would probably hurt a bit when he made out with Dean- not that _that_ was going to happen. He smoothed down his hair with water anyway. It slowly sprang back up as he walked out to where Dean was.  


"Hey," called Dean as Cas walked toward him, "I think I found the right-" He broke off when he saw Cas. "The right-" he stammered. Cas could feel Dean's eyes running down his body. Apparently Cas washing his own blood off his face was Dean's version of a sexy makeover. He licked his lips before continuing. "I found the right alternator," he finally got out.  


"Thank you," said Cas, choosing not to mention Dean's unexpected reaction. "Oh! How much will it cost?"  


"Hey, don't worry about it," Dean replied. "It didn't cost me anything, I got it from bread sandwich guy's car. They didn't need it for a trial because he jumped off a bridge. Pretty convenient, huh?" He grinned and headed back toward the shiny car. Cas followed behind.  


"I should at least pay you for services rendered, shouldn't I?" Dean considered for a moment.  


"That would be great, actually. I mean, I'd refuse out of chivalry, but I'm putting my brother through college." He revved up the engine.  


"The one who's going to be a lawyer?"  


"Yeah, Sammy. I don't actually have to pay for him to go to college," he said proudly. "He's got a scholarship. To Stanford! But you know, room, board, clean prostitutes." He grinned at Cas and shoved the tape back into the player before he could reply. They spent the rest of the ride singing along, loudly. Cas liked watching the way Dean's throat bobbed as he sang.  


Cas's car was still sitting by the side of the road when they got back. Dean went to work on it while Cas looked in his wallet. He had a slightly crumpled five dollar bill, three quarters, and an unpaid parking ticket.  


"Would you mind taking a check?" he called over to Dean. Dean looked up.  


"Not at all!"  


"Alright," said Cas, scribbling his name. "Oh, and would you also mind not cashing it for a few weeks?" Dean gave him a slightly amused, slightly concerned look.  


"Damn, I better hurry up so you can get to this job interview."  


"Well, actually," said Cas sheepishly, "I already missed it."  


"Oh." Dean seemed very concerned now. "What are you gonna do for money?"  


"Oh, don't worry about that," said Cas reassuringly. "They love me at the blood bank. And I get free orange juice!" He grinned weakly at Dean.  


"Y'know, sperm banks pay way better," said Dean, smirking back. "And they're a lot more fun."  


"Thank you. I'll look into that." Was this a come on? Perhaps Dean was just trying to be helpful. Either way, Cas couldn't stop thinking about Dean helping him with sperm donation. He attempted to focus on watching Dean fix the car. He had very deft hands. Never mind.  


"Alright," said Dean, standing up a few minutes later. "Should be good as new. Or at least as good as it was before." Cas thanked him profusely and handed him the check. Dean took it, his grease stained fingers brushing Cas's. They stood there for a few seconds, gazing into each other's eyes. Cas's mind was racing. What should he do? Kiss Dean? Hug him? Suck his dick right here on the side of the highway? And that was assuming Dean was even attracted to him. You could be nice to someone without wanting to screw them, right? Dean finally turned away.  


"Well, good luck with everything," he called as he walked back to his car. He seemed slightly downcast, or disappointed, or maybe just tired, but he still smiled at Cas as he got into his car alone. And suddenly, Cas was struck by the image of the both of them driving off in different directions, back to the lonely farces that were their lives, brave enough only to dream but never to act, on their deathbeds with nothing but their empty hopes for company, being lowered into graves by pallbearers who didn't know their names and didn't care enough to find out, empty and broken and hopeless from the first to the last. He found himself running to Dean's car and pounding on the window. Dean rolled it down, looking at him oddly. "What-"  


"Dean!" he interrupted. "I want you to put your snake in my engine!"  


"What?"  


"I want you to put your bread sandwich in my tailpipe!"  


"What?!"  


"Goddamnit, let's have rough crazy sex in the back of my car!" Dean stared at him, incredulous. "I mean...if you want to." Dean grinned at him and stepped out of the car.  


"Do I want to?" And suddenly, Cas was pinned against the side of Dean's car, their faces mashing together, their tongues colliding in each other's mouths. Dean's leg was between Cas's thighs, and Cas had his hands in Dean's shirt, sliding them all along his spectacular torso. He could hear cars honking. Dean laughed into his mouth. "C'mon," he huffed out, "let's get inside before we get arrested or something." He managed to open the car door and Cas fell onto his back, Dean landing on top of him a moment later. Cas groaned, not out of pain for once. Dean laughed again and bit at the side of his neck. Cas returned the favor a moment later, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Dean breathed hard and moved his hands down to Cas's waist. He clumsily, hurriedly started unzipping their pants as Cas went to town on his neck and jaw. Dean slipped a hand down Cas's pants, and Cas felt compelled to remind him of something.  


"Ah, Dean," he moaned, "I don't have any- ah!- condoms or anything." Dean nipped at his earlobe.  


"Don't worry 'bout it," he gasped into Cas's ear, "I don't think I'd lastlongenoughtogetthemanyway- Damn, Cas!" Cas grinned and moved his hand around in Dean's underwear, running it up and down his considerable length. Dean grabbed Cas's hair with his free hand and twisted it through his fingers. Cas gasped at the tugging sensation and stroked Dean faster. Dean yelled pleasurably and bit him on the nose, hard. It felt better than Cas would've expected. He moaned out Dean's name as he came. A moment later, Dean went over the edge too.  


They lay tangled in each other in the backseat, panting and soaking up each other's sweat. Cas's nose was bleeding again. After a moment, he spoke.  


"I think...I'm going to need to clean up in your bathroom again." He looked up at Dean, whose eyes were still half closed in pleasure. "You too." Dean gave a heavy sigh and finally lifted himself off of Cas.  


"Yeah. I guess we should take separate cars." He seemed sad again, and Cas wondered how many people had seen the backseat of this car as the end of the line. He pulled Dean down and kissed him across the lips.  


"See you when we get there." Dean smiled down at him, his eyes sparkling brighter than ever.  


Cas smiled as he walked back to his now fixed car. He waved to Dean, who was humming the song from before. He smiled again as he pulled out onto the road, gazing into a sky that suddenly seemed a lot sunnier. Yes, they were broke or bleeding or hopeless or dreamless. But at least, at last, they were no longer alone. 


End file.
